


Moving Paper Fantasies

by katamari



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Apocalypse, Bombs, Christmas, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 03:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8084782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katamari/pseuds/katamari
Summary: There's no such thing as happiness here. But for a moment, for one night, they can remember childhood fantasies.





	

Lu Han had never seen snow.  
  
  
He had heard about it, of course. This mystical white blanket of stuff that was supposed to hide the flaws and hard edges of the outside world, and even with the knowledge that it would grow grey and brown and melt into disgusting slush, for a moment-just for a moment-it held promise. He had seen pictures of it in old children’s books, pictures of quaint European houses filled with cherry-cheeked young children dreaming of toys and tables loaded with food, groaning under their own weight.   
  
He had liked to daydream of living in such a peaceful world. He had parents and siblings, all laughter and smiles as they tore open colorful packages to reveal the treats inside. For a moment, he was safe and warm.  
  
For a moment, until a rusted hunk of what used to be a decent car skidded to a halt and drenched him in muddy, foul-smelling water. The unwelcome foul taste in his mouth caused him to spit, and the images disappeared. The quaint houses became glittering neon signs above stained and unkempt streets, the snow, unforgiving pavement, and the presents, a wrinkled up piece of paper clutched tightly in his hand. The family, his coworker Minseok, who had pulled his threadbare cap over his ears in an attempt to keep out the cold and wet.  
  
Minseok had never seen snow, either, but he told Lu Han once that it wasn’t something he really thought about. He didn’t care much for the daydreaming of a world that existed hundreds of years ago, not when there were messages to deliver and money to make, money to spend on edible food and to wing a few coins towards the rent. Some months were better than others, and December was looking to be pretty lean, which sucked because that was when their landlord came sniffing around for his end of year bonus. Minseok really didn’t want to have to blow him again, even if that gave them two months’ worth of free rent. At least they got something out of the deal.  
  
The address was easy to find, a graffiti-ed up building with the front door barely hanging onto its hinges. The elevator, like in most places, was out of order, and Lu Han sighed imperceptibly. It was going to be a long climb, six flights of picking their way through the pickpockets and junkies that lay in wait, either begging money for a fix or already passed out in a pool of broken glass and unidentifiable booze, the high hitting them so fast they couldn’t even take the rubber tubing off their arm. The pair simply stepped over them and continued up the cement staircase with the rusted-out handrails, ready to bend and snap at the lightest touch.   
  
Over the murmurs of the pickpockets and the scuffling of the rats that seemed to reside on every landing came a whistling sound, low and quiet but steadily growing louder. Lu Han froze and motioned for Minseok to stop while he listened, even though the gesture was futile. Bombs never gave warning as to where they were going to hit, after all. Minseok silently nudged him and pointed up the stairs-if they didn’t deliver their message soon, there would be no pay, and no pay meant a visit with their handsy landlord.  
  
The whistling finally stopped with a distant crash-the explosion was far enough away that not even the windows rattled. Lu Han glanced at his watch.  
  
7:56 PM. Too small of a blast for it to make the lists that made up the nine o’clock news, but there was always hope for the eleven o’clock. The news stations had stopped reporting destruction and casualties from the blasts as they were horrible, isolated incidents, and instead featured a neutral-faced newscaster reading out the lists of reported blasts and sipping coffee. They didn’t even bother to take it out of the camera’s view, but no one really bothered with that anymore. There was too much destruction going on for it really to be news.  
  
Lu Han checked the room number one more time, and knocked on the door, three long, one short, one long. He thought the signals were ridiculous, but he understood them. They were for safety, after all. He had a feeling that Junmyeon wasn’t telling him the whole story when they were assigned the task, but it wasn’t hard to figure out that it was something important, something dangerous.   
  
The door opened a crack, and as soon as Lu Han and Minseok put up their hands, showing their lack of weapons, were they allowed to pass the message through. The wrinkled paper was snatched from Lu Han’s hand and money exchanged, a whispered mumbling about how they would continue to use EXO’s service was heard before the door slammed in their faces with an echoing rumble.  
  
They weren’t needed anymore, and it was time to make their way through the mess of junkies and thieves before exiting onto the loud streets. Despite the skyrocketing prices of electricity, the buildings who could afford it flaunted it with their colorful signs and pounding, discordant music.   
  
When they were kids, they both liked music. Their entire orphanage liked music and dancing and laughter, until they were old enough to understand the purpose of the songs. There was no such thing as happy or safe out there, but despite that, both Lu Han and Minseok left at fifteen, seven years ago. They couldn’t stand to live in a world filled with color when it was simply an illusion, like the neon that lined the streets.  
  
Minseok had found EXO first, and although Lu Han was reluctant to join, they let him in anyway. It was the first job that didn’t care if he was Chinese, just that he could run fast and get the job done without asking questions or refusing. One missed job meant certain death for them all, and while on most days it felt hopeless, Lu Han still had his dreams.  
  
Those dreams would keep him going.  
  
A snatch of a pop song floated out of an open door and into the street cacophony, and the pair ignored the added noise and instead tromped up the stairs purposefully. Junmyeon was waiting for his cut, after all, and Lu Han had heard rumors about what he had done to people who had tried to run away with the full payment. They weren’t pretty.  
  
Junmyeon was reclining on a threadbare sofa, unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. Minseok wordlessly handed over the wad of cash, which was dutifully counted out and handed back.  
  
“It’s not enough,” Minseok demanded. “You said forty percent!”  
  
“I did,” Junmyeon said coolly, pausing for one of his lackeys to light his cigarette. “That would be forty percent in your hand. Let your partner count.”  
  
Minseok passed the crumpled up bills to Lu Han, who suddenly felt extra pairs of eyes on him. He made out a few figures leaning against the shadowy walls, and he had a feeling one of them was the infamous Zitao.   
  
Zitao, he had heard, could kill a man with a single strike. Lu Han decided not to press his luck.  
  
“It’s forty.”   
  
Junmyeon shot the man an approving look—whatever test it was, Lu Han had passed.   
  
“Good,” he said. “I’ll even send you out again tonight. One more delivery.” Junmyeon indicated he package lying on the dirty floor next to him.   
  
Minseok sighed, helpless. “We need the money.”  
  
“Take it. I don’t care,” Lu Han replied. “Just get the rent paid.” He didn’t care to be thrown out on the streets again, not in the cold.  
  
With a wary glance back at Junmyeon, Minseok picked the package up. “What’s the cut?”  
  
“All of it. I’m not taking a cent,” the man replied. “Consider it a present…one you have to work for, of course.”  
  
That settled it, there had to be something wrong with the delivery place. They were either going somewhere horribly dangerous, or so out of the way that they wouldn’t have the supplies to make it back in time. Everyone knew that ‘generous’ was the last word that they’d use to describe Junmyeon. They had, however, little choice in the matter. It was either do the errand and potentially get killed, or not do it and face another year worth of hardship. A full cut on a delivery could buy them food for a while, it could pay the rent. One job wouldn’t solve all their troubles, but it would make things just a bit easier in the short term.  
  
There was, of course, the fear of an untimely and grisly death, but Lu Han decided quietly that he’d rather face that than starving for another year. He led the way back down the stairs and into the bitterly cold night. One more delivery, and they could go home.   
  
“This isn’t one of our usual deliveries,” Minseok said after scrutinizing the package. “It’s further out.”  
  
“How much further out?”  
  
“Dobong. Almost all the way out. We’ve got enough to take the subway.”  
  
There was no chance of them making their way to Dobong that night without it, but no one really _enjoyed_ taking the subway. It wasn’t the people down there, Lu Han could deal with the usual picking and weaving through the stairways and the long-broken escalators.  
  
It was the lack of people on the subway itself. They had heard that in earlier days, it was a blessing, an uncrowded train being a time when one could relax.   
  
But the noise as the ancient machine lurched forward, the uncertainty of actually getting to the requested destination, and even then the hope that the station itself was passable made for a nerve-wracking experience.  
  
Minseok scrutinized the heavily vandalized subway map, which was marked with passable stations. “It looks like we’re good. The one we’re going to isn’t blocked off, according to the map.”  
  
“Yet,” Lu Han muttered. “Yet is the key word here.”  
  
“How could I forget? That was stupid of me.”   
  
The subway’s rumble grew louder as it approached, and Lu Han glanced at his watch on instinct. In his picture book, the father of the family had a watch, and always kept the time. There was no need for time anymore, just Day or Night. Everything stopped running on time years ago, except for the news. They still reported the blasts, just like clockwork.  
  
They boarded silently, barely giving a glance to the slumped over figure in the car behind them. A drunk, perhaps, or just a body left to rot.  
  
When the subway started up again, they rode in silence, staring at the old advertisements that still decorated the car. This one hadn’t been hit as much as the others with graffiti; they could still make out the products and the slogans.  
  
Plastic surgeons, cosmetics, toothpaste, and chewing gum. Minseok couldn’t imagine being that obsessed with his appearance like the models in the ad-or the people who, he imagined, scrambled to buy them. He wondered what it would be like in that world, but it was hard to imagine.  
  
“Hey.” He nudged Lu Han, who was on the verge of falling asleep.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Did they have subways in your book?”’  
  
Lu Han stirred. “I thought you didn’t like that book.”  
  
“I’m just curious.” Minseok half-heartedly waved at the advertisements. “Did your book have a subway? Did it have this?”  
  
“No,” Lu Han replied instantly. He had memorized that book, worn it through cover to cover, teaching himself how to read it after the older kids refused to read it for him again when he had memorized it anyway (“you’re reading it wrong, hyung!”)   
  
“Oh.” Minseok sat in silence for a moment, his head pressed against the battered window. “How’d they get around?”  
  
“Horses. That’s what the book said. They had horses and a really fancy carriage.”  
  
“What’s a horse?”  
  
Lu Han shrugged, having never seen one outside his book’s drawings. “It’s an animal, I think. It eats carrots and sugar cubes.”  
  
“No wonder they’re not around anymore,” Minseok muttered. “I haven’t had a carrot since we were _there_ , you know?”  
  
“Yeah…I forgot how they taste. I think I liked them.”  
  
“Doesn’t really matter now, does it?”  
  
“No. You’re right, it doesn’t.”  
  
The subway lurched to a stop, and as the doors opened, they could hear more whistling. Lu Han glanced at his watch.   
  
9:38 PM.  
  
Maybe, just _maybe_ that blast would be on the 11 o’clock news.  
  
They waited in the station until the whistling stopped, then climbed up the stairs. Unlike the ones in the center of town, these were completely empty. It was odd, Lu Han thought, to be in a place with so much silence.   
  
Their footsteps echoed eerily through the station, and for a moment, Lu Han feared that they were trapped in yet another caved-in station. The way was clear, however, and they continued on to the street, despite the eerie silence. There were no cars in this part of town, no cheap neon blazing up the streets. It used to be a residential area, Lu Han supposed, but unlike the more expensive areas, this one didn’t seem to be overrun by the roving gangs that marked downtown Seoul.  
  
He followed Minseok, in silence.  
  
Minseok suddenly stopped, checking the package against the number on the gate he stood in front of. “…This is it.”  
  
  
Lu Han glanced up at the door and froze.  
  
“I don’t want to go in there.”  
  
“We’re not,” Minseok urged. “Just drop it off, get the money, and go home.”  
  
Drop it off, get the money, and go home. It sounded simple enough, but there was no wonder that no one wanted to take the delivery. Who would want to take it to their childhood home, anyway?  
The gate opened with a familiar squeak, and Lu Han could still see traces of bright yellow paint through the rust.  
  
 _It fell._ The orphanage fell during the last war, there was no other explanation. That had to have been a year after they had left, but everything still seemed to be in place. The bikes they rode were still chained to the rack, even though they were rusted out and brittle to the touch. They had fought over the red one, Lu Han remembered. Everyone wanted to ride the red one, the red one that now stood skeletal. The tires and chains had been stolen long ago, and the frame twisted and strained against the chains, but it still held securely to the rack.  
  
“We won’t stay long,” Minseok muttered. He strode up to the door with a confidence that Lu Han could barely muster, and pushed it open. “Hello? Yo, we’ve got a delivery!”  
  
Silence greeted them in the entryway.   
  
“Just leave it and let’s go. I’ll blow the landlord this time, let’s just get out of here,” Lu Han begged.  
  
Minseok, however, seemed immune to his pleas and pressed onward through the entryway, only stopping to look at an abandoned shoe cubby.   
  
“…It’s there.”  
  
“What?” Lu Han asked, bewildered.  
  
Minseok pointed to the tiny nametags below each hole. “Look, here’s mine, and here’s yours.” Their names still shone clear, black ink on yellowed paper, but they were there, crumbling indoor shoes still shoved into the space.  
  
Lu Han swallowed the sob welling in his throat and took a better look around the hall. Things were crumbled and faded, but they were still there. The place had gone untouched despite its vast size and building stability.  
  
“Maybe it’s here,” Minseok murmured. He put the package down, forgetting about the strange delivery, and pounded upstairs. Lu Han followed.  
  
“What’s here?”  
  
Minseok pushed past the old dormitories, to a small room at the end of the hallway. “The library. The library’s got to be here.”  
  
He pushed the door open uncertainly, but like everything else in the home, it was untouched.   
  
Lu Han couldn’t stop himself. He headed straight to the picture book corner and skimmed the titles.  
  
It was there.   
  
He pulled out the book he had loved so much as a child, its cover still decorated with the cheery family decorating a tall tree. He turned to Minseok, his eyes full of questions.  
  
But Minseok had already settled down in a child’s stool, his lanky legs jutting out awkwardly. “Hey.”  
  
“Yeah?” Lu Han found another stool, which was just as uncomfortable as he remembered.  
  
“Read it to me.”  
  
Lu Han brushed off the cover. “The Victorian Christmas,” he read. Minseok craned his neck over to see the pictures. His voice was slow and awkward, pausing and stuttering over syllables he had somewhat forgotten to read.   
  
He read, and let himself fall into the family’s world, with horses and carrots and snow. It let him ignore the whistling of the bombs, the blasts that grew closer and closer. It drowned out the screams, he sound of wood and glass crumpling into splinters.   
  
Minseok drew closer and rested his head on Lu Han’s shoulder, just like when they were kids. It didn’t matter that Lu Han had problems reading it, Minseok had already memorized that book. It was Lu Han’s favorite, after all.  
  
He read, and the noise of the bombs grew louder, but he didn’t care. He didn’t bother to see which news broadcast they would be on. In his world, there were no news broadcasts, no screams. He didn’t have to worry about the landlord or his job or the worry that they were going to fail their errand. Lu Han had what he wanted, his book and Minseok by his side, just like he always had been.  
  
He read, and the world finally stilled.  
  
Lu Han and Minseok still never saw any _real_ snow.  
  
But maybe, just maybe, it would be around next year.


End file.
